Diann Shaddox

"Miranda"

Miranda
Miranda is an executive, the owner of a bank, carries a gun in her purse, kills a man, and falls in love with a gambler. What’s different about Miranda? She lives in the late 1800’s.

Miranda wasn’t like other young girls in Boston; she was a fighter, a strong willed young woman, with a quick Irish temper even growing up a mollycoddled pampered child. She had everything a young woman in the 19 century could dream of, money, lived in a mansion and had servants to see to her every whim, but that wasn’t enough.

Loneliness, her only albatross, wasn’t winning. She followed her dream, left her safe home in Boston, and rode the Transcontinental Railroad to San Francisco.

Her dreams along the way became twisted falling in love with a forbidden love.

This is Miranda’s journal, her travels, her dreams, her happiness, and her sorrows.

Miranda Love Story/Historical Fiction

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Prologue

Going Home

April 19th, 1955

            The gray haired woman, Emily Grace Sims, stepped from her car. The car door closed; however, she didn’t move; a lone tear escaped and ran down her face.

            “Now, Emily Grace you stop that! There will be no more tears,” a caring voice sang into the morning air bringing a smile to her face.

            Her intense blue eyes stared at the stately house remembering that day in April when the ground shook with enormous power leaving death and destruction all around, but this house was a survivor standing tall for over a hundred years. The weeds now had taken over the once manicured gardens, but the heads of a few roses were poking through the mangled mess showing their magnificent colors of pink and red. The only thing missing from the home was the dark haired, hazel-eyed woman who had lived here for over fifty years.

            Emily Grace’s hand turned the doorknob as she pushed the wooden front door open. The only sound in the quiet home was the clicking of her shoes on the marble floor in the vestibule. A cobweb swayed from the ceiling in the slight breeze of the open door.

            She made her way into the parlor. A layer of dust blanketed the furniture looking like ghosts covered in white cloths draped to the floor in the once spotless room. Stopping next to the massive bay window tears glistened in her eyes as she remembered times when this house was full of laughter and joy and she stared at the beautiful blue water surrounding the Golden Gate Bridge.